


Faith Based Reasoning

by paradiamond



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Credence in love and struggling, Credence study, Frottage, Got some real internalized homophobia here, M/M, Riding, exploration of religion, probably an excessive amount of sex scenes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 20:14:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9254747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paradiamond/pseuds/paradiamond
Summary: After a seemingly innocent conversation with Graves, Credence experiences a crisis of faith.





	

He had dreamed of this, but not dared to expect it. 

The reality is almost too much to bear as Credence presses his heels into the bed, trying to keep them from slipping across the sheets as Graves pushes into him, a low groan building in his throat. The logistics of sex have proven to be more complicated than he imagined, when he allowed himself to think of them. He has to be good, to give as well as take. Right now, that means staying in this position, on his back with a pillow under his hips, his legs bent at the knees and spread to grant Graves access. 

Above him, Graves pushes forward the last few inches, braced on his hands and avidly gazing at where they’re joined. Credence holds himself still, having learned that helping isn’t helpful when it comes to this. When Graves settles, he looks up, his eyes so striking that Credence catches his breath. Graves smirks and leans down to kiss him softly. 

“Alright?” he asks, his kindness belied by the fact that Credence can feel him shaking slightly with the exertion of holding still, his desire plain. 

Credence tilts his head up to bring their lips together again, and rolls his hips. Graves gasps into his mouth, a full body shudder wracking his powerful frame. His hands grip the sheets next to Credence’s head tightly. 

“Alright,” Credence manages to whisper back. 

It’s not so easy for him to talk when they’re like this, especially given the fact that it’s so easy to see everything. Credence can’t shake the feeling that this is something that should be done in the dark, but it’s the middle of the day. They have to steal moments like this whenever they can, and sometimes that means slipping away from their duties during the day. Graves doesn’t seem to mind, and since nothing makes sense anymore, Credence is talking all of his cues from him. 

The first time had been so overwhelming Credence barely lasted five minutes. Graves had gotten his clothes off, had him on his back, but as soon as Graves touched him in earnest Credence came all over his hand. Shame had washed through him, a feeling that doubled down on itself. Shame for being a sinner, and an extra piece for not even being good at it. 

Of course, Graves hadn’t seemed to mind all that much either, especially not when Credence touched him in return, but it bothers him. Even now, with Graves braced over him on his elbows, hair coming undone and sweat making it hard for Credence to maintain his grip on his shoulders, Credence is ashamed of how close he is already. He can feel the tell tale pressure building near his spine, twisting his muscles tight and making him pant like a dog. 

Graves leans down and kisses Credence at the base of the throat, still moving inside him, thrusting in and out at a steady pace that’s slowly working Credence into a state he can’t come back from. Last time, he had begged for it, the words spilling from him without permission. Graves had given him everything he wanted, not seeing that his shaking came partly from arousal and partly from shame. Still, today Credence tips his head back, the better to give Graves access and tries to remember to breathe. 

Graves grunts and moves back up to rest on his hands, his pace slowing down. He shifts his weight, changing the angle once and then again. Credence knows what he’s looking for, that spot inside him that sends sparks up his spine and makes him unravel. He sucks in a sharp breath when Graves just barely misses, sending phantom shakes through his limbs, locked around Graves tightly. Graves chuckles and rolls his hips again, this time hitting it straight on. 

Credence cries out and tightens his grip involuntarily, his fingers flexed and bent like claws at Graves’ back. The cry turns into a sustained gasping whimper as Graves continues, radiating smug pleasure and muttering words Credence can no longer understand, caught up in pulling him down, lips seeking skin, trying to touch as much as possible. Graves lets himself be pulled, maintaining the rhythmic rolling of his hips, not so much thrusting as simply rocking into him over and over, to the point that Credence can’t stand it anymore. 

Credence lets his eyes slide shut. “Mr. Graves I’m-”

“Good,” Graves answers, punctuating his statement with a sharp nip to Credence’s shoulder just as he drives into him again, settling off quicksilver energy that has Credence coming all over his stomach with a sound that would have him hiding his face under an other circumstances. As it is, he gasps for breath, arms and legs still locked around Graves, who still has his face buried in the juncture of Credence’s neck and shoulder, alternatively biting and kisses him. Credence shivers, and Graves looks up, radiating self satisfaction. Credence lets his arms and legs fall away, releasing him. 

Graves sits up, and the movement inside him lift some of the fog from Credence’s mind. His eyes widen and he grabs wildly for Graves’ arm. “Wait, aren’t you- Don’t you want-”

Graves pulls away and gives Credence’s body a pointed look. “I am. But you’re done, I can finish myself.” 

Credence feels his heart fly to his throat. “No.” He sits up, putting them face to face. 

It makes him dizzy, even now, to have Graves so close with his body still humming from the residual energy, his arms shaking to hold him up. Graves raises an eyebrow at him, neither of them really used to Credence challenging him on anything, even when Graves wants him to. 

Credence holds his ground. “No, keep going.”

Graves’ expression goes speculative. Then he smiles, sly again. “You want that? To be used like that?” 

Credence can’t speak, apparently having used up all of his nerve to get the simplest words out, so he nods instead. Graves hums and then slides his fingers under Credence’s chin, tipping his head back for a kiss. Credence gives in eagerly, tilting his head to the side by familiarity and opening his mouth for him. There’s no urgency in it, at least not for Credence, and Graves hardly ever seems urgent about anything at all. He kisses Credence lazily, running his tongue along his bottom lip and then delving back in, drawing Credence closer and closer until he’s almost sitting in his lap. 

When they break away, Graves gives him a long look, his pupils blown nearly black and then flips Credence onto his hands and knees. Credence gasps but then clamps down on the sound, not wanting Graves to think that it’s too much or that he doesn't want it. He’s not sure he’s ever wanted anything more. 

Graves runs his hands along the smooth planes of Credence’s back and Credence immediately breaks his promise to himself, moaning shamelessly, blissfully overwhelmed by the simple touch. It feels like more than it is, like it’s a promise. Without the pressure of immediate arousal to cloud his mind, it’s like every touch hits a live wire, completely inescapable. He hadn’t thought that he could feel any more filthy, but this somehow eclipses everything they had already done. Allowing, encouraging, himself to be used, to be _of use_ in this way. He feels a flutter of phantom arousal, but it’s been far too soon for him to respond again. It’s all for Graves. 

Graves leans down and runs his tongue over the bite he had given Credence earlier from the other side, soothing him. “Alright? You want it?”

Credence nods. 

Graves hums and leans back, his hands going to Credence’s hips, fingertips tracing tiny circles before they grip. “No, tell me.”

Credence gasps, and it sounds like a sob. “Yes. I want it.” 

Graves makes a sound almost like a growl and tightens his grip before pushing back into Credence. He slides inside easily, Credence already opened for him. Graves bottoms out and grunts, one uncontrolled sound to match the slight hitch in his usually perfect rhythm. Credence sighs, relaxing back into the stretch. It sparks an emotion deep in his chest, the feeling of being useful, valued. The reciprocity. 

His first thrust rocks Credence forward, almost overbalancing him. Graves chuckles, but Credence scrambles to right himself, determined to hold himself still and be good for him the way Graves is good to Credence, giving instead of taking. He settles himself more firmly on his knees, bracing his hands a little wider and arching his back. 

Behind him, Graves inhales sharply. His grip on Credence’s hips tightens again, almost to the point of pain, but it’s grounding, keeping him from getting distracted as Graves moves again, and then again, thrusts starting to lose any semblance of form the more he goes on. Graves fucks him until he’s done, coming inside Credence in a long burst of pent up energy, the heat and suddenness of it making Credence gasp along with him as he slumps over Credence’s back, spent. 

The most important part is after, when Graves lies with him, still touching. The warm feeling in his bones flares up as Graves sighs and rolls over and off of him, gathering Credence up in his arms to settle down. No one really touches Credence to begin with, and certainly not like this, not like Graves always has. He’s busy, so he can never stay long, and neither can Credence. 

Graves had been sent by Miss Tina, the kind woman who tried to save him from his mother. He explained this all to Credence over the most important meal of his life, talking about magic and the work Credence can do for the cause by keeping an eye on the Second Salemers. The subject had been tantalizing, but the man much more so. More than anything, more than flying and creating things and everything else to do with magic, Credence looks forward to when they have more time together. Up until this point, his life had slid by slowly, a painstaking march from moment to moment, and now he has no time. 

“Did you like that?” Graves asks, a little bit of tiredness creeping into his voice. 

Credence opens one eye. “Did you?” 

Graves looks down at him and smiles, all teeth. “I did. But I asked you first, it’s important to me.” 

“Yes,” Credence replies quietly, his face heating. 

Graves leans down and presses a kiss over the bite on his shoulder, light and soft. “Good.” 

Credence leans into the touch and insinuates himself further into Graves’ space, sending up a silent prayer of thanks that he allows it. It's automatic, but comes with a sting of guilt. His God wouldn't approve. Credence shouldn't be sending thanks for what will surely only infuriate him. 

“You're very quiet,” Graves says, absently running his fingers along the knobs of Credence’s spine. 

Credence shivers and shifts in his grasp to look at him. Graves raises an eyebrow. 

“I'm thinking.” 

“What about?” 

Credence hums and lays his head back down on Graves’ chest. He can't look him in the eye and talk about this. “What god do you follow?” 

Graves barks out a laugh, his body shaking with it. “What?” 

Credence looks up so fast his neck cracks. Graves isn't just poking fun, he's really laughing. It's clear from the look on his face. Credence blinks, shocked, and then feels his face get hot to the point that it almost hurts, his eyes stinging with it. 

“Nothing. I should go,” Credence mutters, his voice blessedly even. He pushes himself up and away, scrambling for the edge of the bed, eager to get away for the first time since they had started this. 

“Oh- no, Credence come now,” Graves says from behind, but Credence can still hear laughter in his voice. 

He scowls and grabs his pants from the crumpled ball on the floor, too angry and upset to notice Graves moving behind him until his arms are already wrapping around his middle, holding him still. “Credence, stop.” 

Credence obeys, but keeps himself stubbornly facing away, forcing Graves to talk to his back. 

“I apologize if I upset you.”

“It's alright,” Credence manages, relying on years of practice in saying things he doesn't mean. It doesn't work. 

Graves sighs and presses a kiss to the back of his neck, making him shiver. “I apologize.” 

Credence lets some of the tension go out of his shoulders. Apologies aren't something people just throw around, at least not to him. He turns his face and Graves shifts back to meet his eye, all the laughter gone. 

“It's alright,” Credence says again, meaning it this time. 

Smiling slightly, Graves moves his hand from where he’d been holding Credence’s hip to cradle his face. He lets his fingers skim over Credence’s too defined cheekbone before he leans in and kisses him. It’s a difficult position, so Credence turns in his arms, Graves accommodating him easily, settling back down once they're facing each other with Graves’ arm locked around his back. Credence pushes back against it, testing the pressure. Graves leans down and kisses his neck, softly and then roughly again and doesn't let him fall off the bed. Then he pulls away. 

“Right. But to answer your question,” Graves says, looking deeply into his eyes. Credence nods, not really remembering what he’d asked. 

“The magical world doesn’t follow the church.”

Credence nods again, some of his capacity to think returning now that Graves’ mouth isn't on him anymore. “Then what god they do they follow?” 

Graves smiles and kisses him again, lightly this time. “To be innocent like you, Credence.”

Credence flushes. “I’m not. You know I’m not.”

Graves laughs again, fondly, and this time Credence smiles with him. 

“You know what I mean. And to answer your question, we don’t follow any religion.”

Credence doesn’t know what to say to that, so he doesn’t say anything at all. 

***

Credence doesn’t make it a habit to question Graves. He’s not stupid, he knows enough to know that there’s more to the world than he’s seen. Graves is the key to so many things, to Credence’s understanding, his place in another, better, world. He needs Graves to show him the way, just like Graves needs Credence to be his eyes and ears, to be his informant on his mother and the church. 

But days later, Credence can’t help but to bring it up again. They're in the alley that's quickly becoming as familiar to Credence as his own home, Graves in his dramatic long coat and Credence in his thin one. It used to be too thin, blocking nothing of the wind. But lately he had noticed that it seemed to protect him more, like it was thicker even though it clearly isn't. Nicer somehow. He has his suspicions, mostly brought on by the fact that Graves had offered to get him a nicer coat that he refused, but he doesn't bring them up. 

He has much more pressing concerns today. 

“If you don’t follow a church, what do you believe in?” Credence asks, keeping his tone light, curious instead of desperate. They had already finished their usual business of healing and news sharing. 

Graves tilts his head back and makes a face, considering. “Ourselves, I suppose.”

It’s Credence’s turn to laugh. Then he realizes that Graves is serious. He shakes his head, horrified. “That’s the most self centered thing I’ve ever heard of.”

Graves’ smile turns a little wicked. “You don’t like focusing on yourself?”

He reaches out and touches Credence, caressing his face. It feels good, safe, but also suddenly insidious. Credence frowns even as he leans into it. “I do, but at what cost?” 

Graves shakes his head. “That's not- there isn't a cost because that's not really how the world works. There aren't good and bad actions that come with prices and rewards. But incidentally, you’re not doing anything wrong, Credence.”

Frowning, Credence turns his head in Graves’ hand, looking away. He's not right, he can't be, but Credence can't keep questioning him, even if he wants to. It's not godly, not in his nature. Graves seems to be waiting for his response, looking at him intently, but he doesn't give one. 

Eventually, Graves sighs and pulls Credence back, making him look. “I promise you one thing, it's not always going to feel like this.” 

It's a ridiculous promise, a devil’s promise, too good to be true. But Credence is already damned, so he doesn't pull away when Graves kisses him, his heart rate picking up and his fingers itching to touch. The familiar sensation of want, the tugging in his chest, builds like a wave. It's makes him want to jump into the other man’s arms and never let go, to fly, or to do magic. 

Graves smiles against his lips, his hands teasing at the back of his neck, where his hair just starts to grow, short and soft from newness. His hands drop to Credence’s waist, gripping firmly. Credence braces himself for the jarring sensation of being brought to another place, to Graves’ house, but it doesn't come. Instead, his back hits the brick, and Graves lowers his mouth to his neck. 

Credence gasps, shock and arousal running through him at the sudden shift. Graves pushes his thigh in between Credence's knees and grinds against him, making Credence whine in the back of his throat. He'll never be able to be here again without blushing, here, in their meeting place where anyone could walk by. 

At the thought, Credence freezes, then he pushes at Graves’ shoulders. “We’ll be seen.” 

Graves leans away and arches an eyebrow at him. His pupils are blown black, half closed from the arousal Credence can feel so clearly against him. Smirking, he turns and does something with his wand, murmuring words that sound like they come from the Bible under his breath. Latin, Credence realizes. Magic. 

Graves turns back to him with a crooked smile and a singular focus that takes Credence’s breath away. “No we won’t. I want you to feel this Credence, I want you to feel powerful.” 

Credence leans in, enthralled, and Graves meets him halfway. He catches the side of Graves’ mouth, letting out a sharp gasp when Graves cocks his head to change the angle, bringing them together fully. Credence presses, kissing him insistently, ardently, until Graves opens his mouth and lets him in. Then he pulls away, laying his forehead against Credence’s his eyes so close that Credence feels dizzy. 

“Yes?”

“Yes,” Credence breathes back.

Graves hums and finally touches Credence through his pants, like a reward. There's no grip, just a teasing pressure for him to press back against, rolling his hips shamelessly as Graves sucks bruises onto his neck that he'll later remove with magic so they don’t get caught. 

“So responsive, still.” Graves breaks away and mutters, looking down at Credence’s bucking hips. 

Credence freezes, the sudden restraint making him shake. “Is that- should I-”

“No. You’re fine,” Graves says firmly, squeezing him tightly for a moment and making Credence gasp and buck his hips. Credence can't even look at him, too caught up in the sensation to split his attention between multiple things. Desperate to reciprocate, Credence brings his hands up, but he only grips Graves by the shoulders for balance. Graves chuckles and kisses him again, pressing him firmly back against the brick. Credence kisses him back, the instinct coming as naturally as it had the first time. 

Sinning, as it turns out, is as easy as breathing. 

He had known it before, to an extent. Credence had touched himself before Graves, only with a little shame as time went on. As much as his mother and his pastors told him not to, Credence couldn’t resist. The bath was always the safest place, washing away everything when he was done and covering for any flush in his cheeks. Still, he always wanted more, and now that Graves has him here, exposed, he has it. But he also has all the sin and guilt to go with it, the price for his rebellion. 

“Am I boring you?” 

Credence’s head snaps up to look at Graves’ amused face. “No, never.” 

“Good.” 

Graves kisses him again, softly this time, and then leans back, making space between them to unzip his trousers. Credence leans back against the wall, waiting and relaxing into it as Graves pulls himself free. Hot desire flashes through him at the sight, striking him even without being touched, and he scrambles to get to his knees between Graves’ legs. 

Graves laughs, but the sound is clouded with desire, and his hand slides into Credence’s hair, holding him away. Credence whines, looking up and making a show of it like he knows Graves likes, his heart pounding. Graves’ eyes are blown black, and he smiles, all teeth. “This isn’t what I intended, but you want it, don’t you?” 

Credence drops his eyes, trying to lean forward. He wants to make Graves feel good, wants to feel him in his mouth. It seems the more perverse of the two desires, but Credence can’t deny that he likes it. The sensation is as much for him as it is for Graves, who gives him a little shake by the hair. It doesn’t hurt, but Credence gasps anyway, knowing what Graves wants. 

“Yes, I want it.” 

“Good,” Graves says, and lets him go. 

Credence takes hold of Graves’ hip with one hand and his cock with the other, stroking it lightly before taking it into his mouth. He runs his tongue along the underside before pulling back to swirl it around the head. It makes his mouth water, a perverse enjoyment Credence doesn’t have anything to compare to. He tightens his grip and bobs his head, picking up the natural rhythm. It’s becoming almost familiar, but it’s still just as exciting, the pleasure of the activity compounded by the fact that Credence now knows exactly how it feels. 

Above him, Graves curses and leans forward, bracing his hand against the wall. An answering excitement flares up in Credence’s stomach and moves downward, making him hard. It comes both from the sensation of Graves in his mouth, the restrained shaking in his hips, and from the desire Graves shows, the appreciation evident in the way he breathes. 

Abruptly, Graves’ hands drops down to Credence’s shoulders and pulls him off. Credence looks up, startled, but Graves is already hauling him up and pressing him back against the wall. Credence pants, trying to adjust to the sudden change. “What’s- what’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” Graves says, busy undoing the fastenings of Credence’s pants and pulling him free. He looks up as he wraps his hand around Credence length, smiling when Credence groans and lets his head fall back against the wall. “I just had something specific in mind.” 

He strokes Credence to full hardness, through he hadn’t been that far off already, and then steps forward, bringing them almost flush together. Graves leans in close, his breath tickling Credence’s neck. “I won’t bother asking if you’ve done this before, but let me know if you don’t like it.” 

Graves shifts his grip, moving so that he’s suddenly holding both of them together. Credence gasps, surprised in spite of everything they had already done, but it quickly turns into a moan of pleasure when Graves moves, stroking them both. The sensation is almost too intimate, if less efficient in making him come. Credence wouldn't trade it for anything. He brings his own hand up and wraps it around Graves’ to follow the movement, letting Graves maintain the control of the strokes. 

The pressure builds gradually, somehow both dulled and heightened by the discordant slide of Graves’ cock against his. Credence pushes back, rolling his hips as much as he can in the limited space. Graves works them harder, gripping them tightly, like he must like to be touched. The togetherness drives Credence closer than the sensation itself, caught up in looking at Graves’ looking at him and the way the move around each other. Credence comes first as he always does, but they stay together until Graves finishes a moment later with a strangled groan that turns into a breathless laugh. 

“Ah- that’s good.” 

Credence nods. “I- I liked that.” 

Graves hums, composed again and clearly amused. He reaches up with his free hand and strokes his face. “I could tell.” 

Credence smiles slightly and inches closer, winding his arms around Graves’ waist until Graves urges him back so he can clean them both with magic. It’s a light, tickling sensation that makes Credence smile, lazy with the after haze of pleasure. Graves hums, amused, and steps back. 

“Do you need to be getting back?” 

“Yes,” Credence says, knowing that this is what Graves asks when he needs to go back to work as well, the kind of poorly constructed politeness that comes from working with other people. He sees the same thing in a lot of the office people who they deal with at the church. 

“I’ll see you soon.” Graves gives him one last kiss, then disappears. 

Credence watches him go, feeling many things all at once that quickly distill down once he looks around and takes in the alley, the time of day. Thrill, then guilt. It hits him like a car, slamming into his chest as a physical force. Credence breathes shallowly, dark spots appearing in his vision and grips at the wall. There’s really nothing to hold, but he tries anyway, fingernails catching at the spaces between the bricks. It hurts, but not as much as the strain in his heart, the place where his conscience lives. 

He’d do it again, but for the first time, Credence thinks that Graves must be wrong. It's always going to feel like this for him. 

***

Maybe it was the location, or the fact that he was so close to home, but the guilt doesn't fade this time. It might not be so bad, he reflects, walking to one of his usual posts with his flyers, if Graves didn't always make a point of asking Credence if he wanted it. He always asks, makes Credence say it out loud before he does anything to him, making him own the sin. There's nowhere for Credence to hide when he agrees, or asks, or even begs for it. Graves holds his hand out, open and inviting, but Credence has to take it, has to _choose_. 

Credence barely notices his work. Some people must take pamphlets because when he looks down, he has less of them than when he started, but he hadn’t seen it happen. The revelation of Graves’ complete lack of concern for his own soul is still startling. More than that, it’s deeply troubling. Credence bites his lip, absently walking away from his post to find another. 

By the rules that Credence lives by, or lived by, Graves is going to hell. Credence walks slowly, staring at the cracks in the sidewalk. He can’t imagine it. He can see himself there, obviously, but Graves? It’s hard. It’s supposed to be. 

He pauses in a doorway, dizzy and confused. People walk by without looking at him, and he doesn’t see their faces. If the wizards don’t follow a god, if they don’t follow anything, then what? They just die and there’s nothing? Nothingness is actually rather appealing to Credence, but he knows it’s not up to him to decide. 

Faith doesn’t rest on reason, and there are tests. 

Credence has never been very good at passing tests. He shakes his head, trying to clear it, and a drop of rain lands on his nose. Instinctively, he brings the pamphlets to his chest and looks around for somewhere better to stand. With the rain, people will be even less likely to stop to speak with him, but the idea of going home already sends a shiver up his spine. He turns his head, and sees the church. Not his church of course, but a Catholic one. Credence blinks. Then he walks over and slips inside. 

It’s large, and cold. Credence shivers right inside the doorway, looking up at the high ceiling and then around at the colorfully printed windows. Mary looks back at him, smiling with a baby in her arms. Credence tilts his head, caught up in her gaze. It’s idolatry, but it’s beautiful. 

“Nothing bring people to the church faster than the rain,” someone says, and Credence jumps, spinning around to see a priest looking at him from the other side of the door. He’s not quite old, but he isn’t young either, with greying hair and lines on his face. He smiles slightly and takes a step closer. Credence just watches him, heart pounding. 

“I- I’m sorry,” he mutters, stuffing the pamphlets into his pant’s pocket as quickly as he can. The priest's gaze flickers down to them and then back up, unruffled. 

“Are you seeking shelter, or may I help you with something?”

Credence can’t meet his gaze, so he nods. A hand lands on his shoulder, soft but firm. He looks up, startled. The priest nods to something over his shoulder. “Confession?” 

The word is alien to Credence. He shakes his head. “No, I’m- I’m not a Catholic.” 

“I see.” The priest lets him go, and Credence feels a sinking in his chest. But then the priest gestures over to the pews, his long sleeve trailing through the air, dramatic and stately. “Would you like to sit down and keep an old man some company anyway? I don’t get a lot of visitors on a Thursday, and you see like you could use a good conversation.” 

He turns away before Credence has to answer. Leaving him free to simply trail behind, feeling small under the gazes of the windows, the vaulted beams of the ceiling. He sits down on the hardwood, looking entirely comfortable as Credence hovers uncertainly in the aisle. 

“Please, sit.” 

“Thank you sir- father.” Credence stumbles awkwardly. He gets another soft smile in return. 

“Father O’Toole.” 

An irishman. There aren’t many in his neighborhood. Credence looks him over curiously, but the priest just looks back, nonplussed. It makes him think about wizards and witches again, as always, wonder if they care about that sort of thing. Probably not, Credence thinks, almost viciously. If they don’t care about sin, why should they care where a person comes from? Maybe it’s better, but it seems so strange. 

The looks on his face must be a fright, because Father O’Toole’s eyebrows shoot up. “I take it you are having a hard time.” 

Credence tries to smile as he settles himself, sitting on the very edge of the pew. “I suppose. I can’t complain though. My life has never been better than it is now.” 

“Ah.” O’Toole nods to him. “But that is not always as it seems, is it? The richest of men can be spiritually bankrupt.” 

Images of Graves float through his him, of his house, his clothes. Credence nods. “That’s one way to describe it.” 

“Why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you?”

“You wouldn’t believe me.” 

“Only one way to find that out.” 

Credence shifts in his seat. “It’s not my secret to tell.” 

“But?” 

“But I’ve been having doubts about everything.” He keeps his gaze down, expecting a slap at the least. 

Instead, the priest chuckles. “Well, you are around that age.” 

Credence looks up. “I’m being serious.” 

“I believe you. What specific doubts?” 

“I-” Credence picks the least dangerous of all his questions. “What is heaven? I can’t imagine being that happy, and certainly not for that long.” 

“It’s unimaginable, completely indescribable.” 

Credence frowns. “But-” 

“But nothing. What about hell? Do you believe that there are no consequences? Without heaven there would be nothing to fight for, only against.” 

Credence looks away, his mind racing. There is no hell for the wizards. Is there to be no punishment except for what they do to each other? Although, punishment for what? Determined by who? God, obviously, but is there a God? He shakes his head as if to clear it and looks back. 

“I suppose. But how do we know?”

“Well, it is written. The devil is in the details, as they say.” 

“My mother writes lies. She tries to pass them off as the word of God.” 

“How do you know they’re lies?” 

“I’ve been studying the bible. So much of what she says it isn't in there at all.” 

O’Toole nods. “Ah. But that begs the question, doesn’t it? How do you then know that the person who wrote you bible didn’t also make up their own lies?” 

Credence looks up, nodding helplessly. “I don’t know. I know that I shouldn’t ask, but-” 

“But anything can be written, of course. The answer is faith. You feel the truth in these words,” he says, reaching over to tap his fingers lightly on the cover of a bible in the trough along the back of the pew in front of them. “They feel right for a reason, because they come from God.” 

“I have a friend who is going to hell,” Credence says abruptly, the words coming unbidden from him now. He shakes his head. “It’s so hard.” 

“Yes, it is.” 

He seems so kind, nothing at all like Credence’s mother. There’s no evil in his heart, which only make it more confusing. Credence frowns. “Why would God do this to us?”

Father O’Toole smiles. “Even some of the angels fell. Lucifer, for example.”

“God’s favorite,” Credence says, automatically, and then wonders why God had a favorite to begin with. 

“That’s right. It is a gift, it’s the nature of free will.”

Credence shakes his head. “I don’t want it.” 

“Are you sure?”

“No.” 

Behind them, the door opens. Credence jumps almost out of his seat. Father O’Toole pats him on the back, and stands. Credence watches him, wishing he wouldn’t go. “Tell me what to do?”

The priest shakes his head. “I can’t. But I’ll be in the confession booth if you want to unburden yourself more.” He turns and approaches the person who had just walked inside. Credence looks away, heart suddenly pounding. His eyes land on the bible. 

In the end, he takes his leave from the church without stopping for confession and never comes back, firmly decided that for now he can’t decide. He chooses not to chose. 

It’s the Catholic’s purgatory, in a way. 

***

Credence ladles soup into a bowl with probably more focus than is strictly necessary. In the days following his visit to the church, he had maintained his resolution to simply stop. He isn’t in a position to be making any decisions, not now that he barely knows what he wants. Simple tasks, like handing out pamphlets and serving the children, he can do. 

Apart from the straightforward work, he studies the bible, looking for answers buried in the surprisingly complicated text. His mother always made it sound so simple, but between his lack of practice at reading and the style it is written in, it’s becoming another job all on its own. Luckily it’s an activity that keeps him inside and one that not even his mother can complain about. 

The door opens, and Credence jerks his head up, fear striking his heart for an instant before it dissipates at the sight of yet another child. He sighs and looks back down, absently accepting another bowl. He was supposed to meet with Graves yesterday, and he hadn’t gone. 

He doesn’t like feeling fear at the thought of Graves. It’s incongruous to how he generally feels, which is a mix of rabid desire struggling to be unleashed and ashamed gratitude. Now he’s worried that Graves might show up and alert his mother to the fact that he’d been sneaking around, or even send another wizard to do it for him, washing his hands of Credence forever. The idea squeezes around his heart and lungs, making it difficult to breathe. He closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath, calling up his old methods of calm and control. 

When he opens his eyes, Graves is there, standing by the wall on the other side of the room with his hands in his coat pockets.

Credence blinks, then furtively shoots a glance over towards his mother, who of course catches him looking right away. She narrows her eyes at him and then turns to scan the room, checking her little kingdom. Then she turns back to her pamphlets, evidently satisfied. When Credence glances back over at Graves in between bowls, the man is smirking at him. 

It seems like hours before he is able to get away, making some bare excuse to his mother that he’ll surely pay for later. But the urgency to explain himself to Graves, to figure out where they stand, is too great. Graves takes them straight to his house, whisking them away from the alley with that pulling magic that makes Credence’s head spin and his knees weak. 

Graves pulls away as soon as they arrive, and Credence feels the loss like a physical blow. They’re back in Graves’ house, and he looks away to cover for his weakness, focusing in the fireplace, which has a moving painting of a lake hanging above it. The figures in scene move around in the distance, walking and basking in the sun. Graves doesn’t say anything, apparently content to wait until Credence speaks. Finally, he can’t take the silence. 

“That was very impressive,” Credence offers quietly, the guilt of missing their appointment still stinging. Graves raises an eyebrow at him and Credence gestures towards him vaguely. “What you did in the church.” 

“Ah. An advanced disillusionment charm,” Grave says, some of the tension leaking from his shoulders. “It’s not true invisibility, but it can pass under some scrutiny. It renders the caster not vanished, but irrelevant to the viewer. No one expected me to be there.” 

“I did.” 

“Yes, and you saw me didn’t you?” Grave asks, smirking. Then it drops away. “Where were you yesterday?” 

Credence sucks in a sharp breath and looks away. “I’m sorry.”

Graves’ eyebrows shoot up. “What for? I assumed that your mother kept you.” 

“No, I-” Credence shakes his head. “I don’t know if I can do this anymore.” 

Graves doesn’t respond. The silence goes on for so long that Credence looks up, heart pounding and already bitterly regretting the words. Graves is looking over towards the window, but absently, like he’s not really seeing past the glass. Credence’s fingers itch with the urge to reach out and touch, to being his attention back, but he keeps his hands by his sides. Finally, Graves rubs a hand over his face and sighs. 

“I understand, of course. Do you mean the entire relationship, or just the sexual aspect of it?” 

Credence flushes, his eyes glued to his shoes. “I- I’m not sure.” 

“Whatever you decide is up to you. I don’t want you to feel like you have to stay in a relationship with me in order to maintain our arrangement.” He sighs and shakes his head. “I suppose this is why they tell you not to mix work and pleasure. If I’ve put any pressure on you to do anything you genuinely didn’t want to do, I deeply apologize. I took your...reluctance as shame, not a lack of desire. I never meant for you to feel trapped, or-”

“It’s not your fault,” Credence chokes out, his heart in his throat. “It’s me.” 

Graves barks out a laugh. “It’s not you it’s me? Really?”

“What?”

“Never mind.” He crosses his arms. “The point is, it’s both of us, but I should have seen it if you felt...if you were doing this out of something other than a desire to.” 

Credence shakes his head. “I do desire it.” 

Graves’ eyebrows furrow. “Then what?” 

“It’s...wrong.” 

“Ah.” 

“I talked to someone about you, a priest.”

Graves goes very still. “Did you now.”

Credence’s neck snaps up. “Not about magic, I know the rules.” 

“Good.”

“I just- I know what I’m doing is wrong. I want it...but I shouldn’t.” Credence shakes his head. He looks up and finds Graves looking back at him, his expression open and waiting. He takes in a sharp breath, and on the exhale it seems like everything he’d been feeling comes pouring out, his disgust with his own weakness, his fears of hell, his doubts about heaven. When he’s done, Graves nods. 

“I have had similar thoughts myself.” 

Credence looks up and frowns. “You have? I thought that you didn’t follow the church.”

“We don’t, but I had an academic interest. The church, mostly the Catholic church, had a profound impact on my people. They were instrumental in driving us underground.”

Credence feels the urge to apologize, but knows by now how much Graves hates empty apologies, so he nods instead. “They have a lot of power. People listen to them.” 

“Yes, and that’s what interested me about it all. The way they were able to make people ignore reason, give up everything, all on the promise of something they could never prove. It’s genius.” His gaze flickers back over to Credence. “No offence.”

Credence huffs out a little laugh, the thing in his chest unwinding with the words. “It’s alright, I’m used to it. Ma’s version of the church teachings isn’t exactly normal. We learned to have thick skin about it.”

“Good. That will help you.” Graves shakes his head. “But yes, heaven. We aren’t meant to be idle. If there’s a heaven, a perfect place, then what do we do there? Are we content in our inaction? I don’t believe it. We are meant to strive, to seek to achieve something. Without that, we’re nothing. Just look at you.”

Credence blinks. “Me?”

“Yes. You risk much to have these visits with me, but you do so anyway because you have something to strive for.”

“But what about the risk?”

Graves frowns at him. “What risk?”

Credence blinks at him. “Hell.”

“Ah. The ultimate punishment. The monster under the bed.”

“Well-”

“Do you want to know what I really think Credence?” Graves asks, eyes flashing. He steps closer, finally closing the last of the space between them. Credence sucks in a shocked breath, their noses almost touching. Graves doesn’t lean in, but he wraps a hand around Credence’s arms, his fingers going all the way around. 

“I think that a long time ago, when people did not understand the world, they made up a beautiful lie to make them feel better about the deplorable conditions they lived in. Dying at a young age, seeing their children die, it’s difficult. The strong and powerful took advantage of that lie, convincing everyone who heard it that this life is only a pit stop in a grander adventure, making them easier to exploit. That’s all. And do you know what else?”

Credence just shakes his head, silent and horror struck again. He knows he’s done for, that he took his second chance and threw it away, but he wishes that he didn’t have to listen to Graves insist that it’s a good thing. 

Graves reaches up, letting go of his arm, and takes his face him his hands. “You are smart. You want more than that, you deserve more than that.”

Credence squeezes his eyes shut, physically pained at the words. “No, we’re not worthy, we’re never-” 

“You don’t think I’m worthy? You are.” 

“That’s blasphemy,” Credence mutters, opening his eyes again to see Graves shaking his head. 

“If you insist.” Graves kisses his face, just at the corner of his mouth. “I think it’s blasphemy for you to say you’re unworthy. You want more, and you know it exists, that’s why you’re here.” 

Credence leans into his touch. “Maybe I do, but wanting and having aren’t the same thing.”

“They can be.” Graves smiles, all teeth. “What do you want?” 

Credence leans forward and then stops, his gaze dropping down to Graves’ mouth. Graves doesn’t move. “I- it can’t just be about that.” 

He looks back up, and Graves stares back at him, trying to look impassive. Credence shakes his head as much as he can with Graves’ holding him. But then he lets go, stepping back and out of Credence’s space with a frown. It sets off a panic in Credence’s chest, and he steps forward on instinct, following him. Graves looks away, and Credence can’t stand it. The pain of hell might be worse, but it doesn’t feel like it, and as much as he always tried, Credence could never muster up enough patience or grace to live for the long term. 

Credence reaches out and grabs onto Graves’ expensive shirt to pull him forward. He’s too strong to really be moved, but he allows Credence to do it anyway, turning his head to match Credence in the kiss. Credence sighs, mouth opening in an invitation that Graves takes, sliding his tongue into his mouth and stroking along his own. Credence tilts his head back slightly, letting Graves take control. Something takes over Credence, or he lets something else go, because he wraps his arms around Graves’ shoulders and pulls, hoisting himself up and making Graves catch him before he falls. Graves breaks away to chuckle, his hands big and warm even through Credence’s pants, holding him up. 

“Upstairs?”

Credence nods, leaning in to kiss him again before either of them can say or do anything to stop it. The concept of losing this, of throwing it away, haunts him, biting at his heels. Graves shifts in his arms, and Credence braces himself for the horrid dragging feeling of magic, but Graves only pulls away and walks them into the living room, and then up the stairs. It’s a longer way than Credence would have imagined, long enough to change his mind, which is likely why Graves had done it. Credence has never been very good at passing tests, but this one is easy, the most natural course of action for him to take. He keeps his arms and legs wrapped tightly around Graves and lets himself be carried. 

Graves uses Credence like a ram to push the unlatched door to his bedroom open, a trace of the familiar wickedness coming back into his eyes. Credence pushes his face into Graves’ neck, breathing in his scent as Graves lowers them down onto the bed, slowly at first and then suddenly dropping down on top of him. Graves grunts. 

“Did I hurt you?”

Credence tilts his head back, pleased that he had maintained his grip. “No.” 

“Good,” Graves says, leaning back in to drag his teeth over the pulse point in Credence’s neck. “I want you to do something for me.”

Credence tightens his grip on his shoulders. “Anything.”

Graves smirks and pulls away, reaching for his wand. Credence closes his eyes and relaxes as Graves does his magic, shedding their clothes and whatever else he does to get Credence ready for him. Credence had never worked up the nerve to ask, but it surely has something to do with speeding up the preparation considering how different it had felt when Credence tried to do this to himself. He shifts his legs and feels the change, the relaxed feeling in his muscles, the slickness between his thighs. Graves sets the wand on the table and then rolls his hips, still situated between Credence’s spread legs and then rolls them over, so quickly it makes Credence’s head spin. 

“What-” Credence catches himself before he overbalances, suddenly finding himself straddling Graves. 

“Like this,” Graves says, running his fingers lightly over Credence thighs, tracing patterns visible only to him. 

Credence feels his face burn. “Oh. I didn’t realize you meant this.” 

Graves hums and moves his hand higher, but misses Credence’s arousal in favor of stroking his stomach. “You don’t have to, not with me. But you said ‘anything’ and a worse wizard might take advantage of that.” 

Credence drops his eyes. “You’re right.” 

“I know, I’m trying to help you. That’s all I’ve ever done.” 

Credence looks back up, ignoring the burning in his face in favor of the darkness of Graves’ eyes. “I know. You do, and I want this.” 

Graves’ eyebrows fly up, and Credence realizes that it’s the first time he’s professed to wanting this, wanting anything like this, without being asked first. Somehow embarrassed and emboldened at the same time, Credence sets his hands on Graves’ chest and rises up on his thighs. Graves beats him to the finish, reaching down to take hold of himself and line up with Credence, who has stopped breathing. The angle is extreme, making it so that Credence has to watch carefully to make sure he comes down in the right place, and when he does it’s unlike anything he’s felt before, despite the familiarity of the stretch. 

“Ah-” Credence closes his eyes and settles all the way down, flush with Graves’ groin. He rolls his hips experimentally before picking them up and dropping down again, unsure. Graves reaches up and slides his hands over Credence’s chest and back down, towards his hips, but he doesn’t grab them, apparently content to let Credence set the pace. 

Between the shocking intimacy and the shaking in his legs, it doesn’t take long for Credence to become overwhelmed. He shakes his head even as he keeps dragging himself up and down, the rhythm rapidly breaking down. “I don’t know if I can keep going-” 

Graves pulls him down by the shoulder and kisses him. The sudden shift in angle makes Graves shift and hit that spot inside him and Credence gasps into his mouth as sparks break out behind his eyes. He turns his head away and rolls his hips again, trying and succeeding to repeat the motion. Graves huffs out a laugh and reaches between them, wrapping his hand around Credence to stroke him at the same time. His breathing has gone ragged, Credence can feel the rise and fall of his chest from where his hands are holding it down, as well as his pounding heart beat. 

He closes his eyes and tries to focus, to give as well as take. It’s close to what he had wanted so many times, to be the one to offer pleasure instead of just receiving. As always, Graves seemed to know exactly what Credence wanted, what he needed, before Credence knew it himself. 

He sits up hurriedly, back to his original position and the greater leverage it affords, ignoring the shaking in his legs in favor of the electricity running through his skin. Graves’ bring his hands back up to tighten on Credence’s hips, more insistent now that he’s getting close. He shifts, almost making Credence lose his balance and starts thrusting up when Credence drops down, meeting him there. 

“That’s it,” Graves says, encouragingly. “That’s my boy.” 

Credence gasps, his muscles locking down in anticipation. He manages a few more thrusts before he’s done and coming all over Graves’ stomach, overwhelmed. Graves makes a sound like a growl and continues for a few more seconds before letting go himself. Credence looks down at him, just barely keeping himself upright until Graves rolls, taking Credence with him. 

They settle face to face, but Credence insinuates himself into Graves’ space, putting them a little off kilter, Credence half on top of him. Graves hums, amused. “You seem less mad.” 

“I was never mad.” 

“Going to stand me up again?”

Credence sighs and turns his face into Graves’ shoulder. “No.” 

He’s not going anywhere, damned or not. 

Graves hums and strokes Credence’s hair absently, his fingers pulling easily through the strands. “You’re concerned about your soul.” 

“Yes,” Credence whispers.

“Don’t be.” 

Credence raises his head to give him a flat look, eyes narrowing on instinct. “That’s all you-”

“I’ve seen it, and it’s beautiful.” 

Credence wants to respond, but can’t. Graves smiles at him. 

“Let me ask you this. If your religion has the answers, why don’t they know about us?”

Credence eyes him suspiciously. “They do. My mother-”

“No, us as we really are, as you will be.” He shakes his head. “They don’t know what we know, Credence. They have no idea.”

Credence licks his lips, and starts to believe him. There’s a certainly in Graves’ voice that Credence recognizes as true. It’s faith, the true kind Credence had never been able to really touch.

Finally, he nods, and is rewarded by Graves’ smile. The corner of Credence’s mouth twitches. “Alright. Show me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Visit me at paradiamond.tumblr.com (:


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